


Brave Words

by Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody



Series: Windmills & Windowsills [6]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: M/M, Scala ad Caelum (Kingdom Hearts)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 13:05:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18965815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody/pseuds/Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody
Summary: Moonlit balconies are the best and only place to do this sort of thing.





	Brave Words

**Author's Note:**

> "Two characters go to a party and wander off to find a quiet, secluded place to talk" is one of my all-time favorite cheesy romantic tropes. So here we are.

“If there were only two people in the world,” Xehanort asks, staring up at the sky, “what do you think they would be to each other? Friends, or enemies?”

Eraqus stays quiet for a while, which is a good sign. If he answered right away, it would have been to tell Xehanort what a weak question that was, or to scold him for interrupting his nap. Silence means he’s actually giving it some thought.

Or he’s already fallen asleep. That’s always a possibility around mid-afternoon, especially when they’re sprawled out on the grass beneath the sun. Though Xehanort’s sure he would have heard snoring by now.

“I don’t think they’d be anything, necessarily,” Eraqus replies. “But I also don’t think those are the only options. Maybe they’d be lovers. Maybe they’d avoid each other. Maybe they’d just be, like…mildly annoying neighbors.”

Xehanort laughs. “Fair enough.” He gets more comfortable and shuts his eyes, accepting the sun’s warmth, but not its light. He can tell a dragonfly zips overhead by the sound of its wings, buzzing close to his face, but he doesn’t stir.

“How about you?” Eraqus asks. “What do _you_ think these two people would be to each other?”

“I think they’d be everything.” Xehanort says it so readily that Eraqus wonders if he only asked the question to share his own answer.

“Do you think one person _can_ be everything for someone else?”

“If the circumstances were extreme enough, yeah. I think they’d have to be. ‘No man is an island,’ right? Take it from an actual islander.”

“So…man’s need for companionship is the deciding factor here?”

“Sure. Why not?” Xehanort arches his back, then settles down on the grass again. “I don’t know. It’s all hypothetical, anyway. Unless you want to go find an empty world and see for ourselves.”

As soon as he lets those words leave his mouth, Xehanort wants to kick himself for how presumptuous it sounded. But Eraqus, never one to be outdone, laughs and says, “With all the time we spend together, it sometimes feels like we’re already the only two people in the world.”

Xehanort pauses, and he feels Eraqus pause, too. Both of them lie side by side without looking at each other, replaying everything they just said, wondering how deeply they should read into it. For a moment, Eraqus seems like he might be the one to break the silence, but he lets the moment pass, and he lets his comment hang in the air without trying to downplay it.

Eventually, after lying beneath the clear sky a little longer, he rises to his feet. Xehanort sits up but doesn’t follow him further than that. “Heading back?”

“Yeah, I should probably start getting ready for tonight. As should you,” Eraqus adds, to which Xehanort waves his hand dismissively. “Well, either way. See you on the dance floor, I guess.”

“You’ll see me _near_ the dance floor,” Xehanort says. Eraqus laughs as he walks off, making his way back to the tower, and Xehanort lies down again, this time in the imprint left by Eraqus’s body in the sun-warmed grass.

* * *

In years gone by, the annual commemorative gala was one of the most prestigious occasions in Scala ad Caelum, second only to the appointing of a new Master. These days, with each class of prospective Keyblade wielders being younger than the last, it’s become more of a bash than the ceremonial event it once was.

And to stray even further from tradition, this year’s commemorative gala lacks anything to commemorate. Every student is well past the early milestones of their training, but no one is close enough to graduation for it to be worth celebrating. So, the Masters announce that this party will be a commemoration of everyone’s hard work and general progress over the past year, in keeping with the spirit of the event.

No one really believes that “general progress” is worth an entire commemorative affair, but as long as the students get the weekend off and the instructors get an excuse to drink, no one protests.

Like most important events, the gala is held in the training hall at the top of the tower. It doesn’t take Xehanort and Eraqus long to find each other inside, even among the crowd. Everyone is decked out in simple but elegant formal wear, and these two are no exception, but they still greet each other with a few obligatory jokes about how dorky they look. They find a table with some students they both recognize and get along with, and they proceed to be served an absolutely colossal amount of food. Every table is covered with steaming plates of fish and mixed vegetables, bowls of dumplings and noodles, and bread served in baskets so large that Eraqus has to assume their original purpose was something like the transportation of firewood.

Everyone helps themselves to as much as they can, knowing that once the festivities are over, the dining hall will go back to serving modest portions. Xehanort clears his plate but declines a second helping of anything, seeming uncomfortable with the excess. He sticks with water while Eraqus accepts a glass of wine.

Once they have their fill of dinner and dessert, the tables are wheeled away to the walls, and the training hall becomes a dance hall. A few of the Masters insist on starting the night off with traditional dances, if only to ensure that the older partygoers get to have _some_ fun before they surrender the floor to their pupils. Most of the students roll their eyes at the formal dance, but it’s pleasant enough, if a little boring.

Neither Xehanort nor Eraqus asks the other to be his dance partner. They simply take their places, facing each other and holding their hands out, palm to palm. The first minute or so is mild and repetitive, and they engage in idle conversation about Xehanort’s lack of enthusiasm and Eraqus’s lack of balance after sneaking an extra glass of wine when the teachers weren’t looking. Soon, they step away from each other to start their rotation of new partners. The boy Eraqus ends up with next is a fellow trainee, one he’s never spoken to before and knows nothing about, except that he apparently has two left feet. Still, he doesn’t mind the separation. It’s what makes the eventual reunion all the more satisfying.

Unfortunately, the music stops early, while they’re still a few partner swaps away from the end. Eraqus is paired with a girl he knows from history class, and Xehanort is with a boy from their magic lessons. They’re not too far apart, separated only by a few sets of dance partners, but Xehanort excuses himself before the next song begins, and Eraqus doesn’t try to stop him.

He remains on the floor for a while, dancing with his classmates and taking occasional breaks for water. After about half an hour, he realizes he hasn’t seen Xehanort, not even on the sidelines. Eraqus does a quick scan of the perimeter of the room, just to be sure, then tracks down the student he ended that first dance with and asks if she’s seen him lately. She says he went outside a while ago and hasn’t come back yet, as far as she knows, though she isn’t exactly keeping an eye out. Eraqus thanks her, grateful that at least one person at this party has maintained some situational awareness, and he squeezes his way carefully through the crowd until he reaches the enormous glass door to the balcony.

It didn’t surprise him that Xehanort needed a break from the party, but Eraqus didn’t realize how much he needed one, too. The door shuts softly behind him, muting the sounds of the celebration. The gold of the training hall is replaced by the mottled blue and purple of night, and the warmth is replaced by a crisp breeze. Eraqus takes a deep breath and lets it out with mindful slowness, feeling every inch of his mouth and throat and lungs cool down. Once he’s acclimated to the change in temperature and noise level, he sets off to find Xehanort.

The balcony isn’t very wide—the space from the door to the railing can be crossed in three large steps—but it’s long, wrapping almost fully around the building. Eraqus has to turn two corners before he even sees Xehanort. He’s standing at the railing, leaning forward to rest his elbows on it, his hands dangling on the other side and his fingers knitted loosely together. He looks at ease, for him at least, but focused. Always focused.

Eraqus approaches, not saying anything because he’s sure Xehanort will notice him sooner than he actually does. He almost reaches Xehanort’s side before Xehanort finally hears his footsteps and looks up from his reverie in surprise. He visibly relaxes when he sees who it is, and there’s a flicker of fondness in his gaze before it sweeps over Eraqus and turns a little judgmental. “Please tell me you’re done for the night.”

Eraqus laughs and makes small adjustments to his jacket and hair. “That bad, huh?”

“It’s like the more you try to style your hair, the crazier it gets.”

“Yeah, it has a mind of its own,” Eraqus agrees, nevertheless trying to finger-comb the wavy locks back into place. Xehanort’s hair is always a little better at holding its style. Only a few short strands insist on coming loose, but they frame his face so nicely that it might as well be deliberate.

Xehanort returns to the moonlit view of Scala, and Eraqus stops trying to fix himself up. The breeze will sweep his hair whichever way it wants, regardless of how he tries to style it. He joins Xehanort at the railing, resting his elbows on it as well, but reclining against it instead of looking out at the view. They stay like that for just a moment, standing side by side but facing opposite directions, until Eraqus is gently pushed away from the railing by Xehanort’s warm hand on his back. “What?” he asks with a laugh. “Worried I’ll fall?”

“Worried I won’t catch you in time,” Xehanort corrects him, still pushing until Eraqus stands upright. Eraqus obliges and turns around, more or less mirroring Xehanort’s pose as he brings both hands over the railing again.

It’s rare for them to be outside at this height, higher than even the gondolas go. Eraqus can’t remember the last time he saw the moon look so big, burning brightly but still half-sunk below the horizon. It lays a path of light across the ocean, fractured like mosaic tiles by the waves, and in a moment of childlike daydreaming, Eraqus imagines himself walking along that path, hopping from one shard of light to the next like lunar stepping stones.

“What are you doing out here, anyway?” Xehanort asks, apropos of nothing. Eraqus gives him a critical look.

“Tracking down my dance partner,” he replies, and Xehanort laughs a little, almost embarrassed.

“Sorry,” he says, more of a formality than a real apology. “I can handle the dances with specific steps, but when they open the floor to the ‘anything goes’ crowd, that’s when I take my leave.”

“Wow. Spoken like a true Master.” Eraqus watches Xehanort smile for a second, then adds, “I’m just saying. It’s customary to finish a dance with the person you started with.”

Xehanort shrugs. “Take it up with the musicians. Tonight’s not really about tradition, anyway.”

Eraqus can’t argue with that, nor was he really trying to argue in the first place. Just making lame attempts to lighten a mood that probably doesn’t need lightening. “Well, what are _you_ doing out here? Not having fun inside?”

“Just needed some peace and quiet.”

“You gonna come back in soon?”

“Maybe.” Xehanort glances at Eraqus and tilts his head toward the way came. “You don’t have to wait for me. You should get back inside. Enjoy the party while it’s still going.”

Eraqus frowns. “If you want to be alone, you can just tell me,” he says, a little insulted that it needs to be said at all. “If that’s why you came out here, I won’t pry. I just wanted to see if you were all right.”

“Why wouldn’t I be all right?”

“You know. Lots of people, lots of drinking and dancing. An environment where you can’t show off,” Eraqus adds, noticing the corner of Xehanort’s mouth twitch as he fights back a smile. “Just wanted to make sure you weren’t getting worn out, I guess. So if I’m not helping with that, I can head back. Just tell me that’s what you want, and I’ll go.”

Xehanort doesn’t answer right away. He looks steadily at Eraqus, taking in his words while Eraqus waits patiently for the verdict. Finally, Xehanort turns his gaze to the view again. “If you want to go back, then you should. But you’re welcome to stay.”

Eraqus almost rolls his eyes. Of course Xehanort can’t just say what he wants like a normal person, even when he’s handed the perfect opportunity. He settles against the railing and goes back to watching the moonrise. They’re too high up to hear the ocean, and the music that wafts out from the hall would have drowned it out anyway. But Eraqus watches the water shudder beneath the breeze, and his memories of the sound of waves make up the difference.

As the moon rises above the island towns of Scala, Eraqus finds himself bobbing his head slightly to the music, which has picked up the tempo since he came outside. He feels Xehanort shift, and when Eraqus glances at him, he sees that his friend has turned away from the view and is now facing him instead. Eraqus raises his eyebrows. “Yes?”

Xehanort puts one hand behind his back and offers the other to Eraqus, such a perfect picture of gallantry that Eraqus can’t help blurting out a laugh. “ _Seriously_?”

“Seriously. You look like you’re enjoying the music.” Eraqus almost feels self-conscious for a second, and then Xehanort adds, “And since you were _clearly_ so offended about being abandoned back on the dance floor…”

Eraqus scoffs, playing along with his condescending tone. “Oh, don’t do me any favors.”

“It’s not a favor,” Xehanort says, holding his hand out a little more insistently. “It would be my honor.”

Eraqus takes his hand, accepting the offer. “Stop acting humble,” he says as he steps into place. “You’re not that great.” Xehanort grins and moves his free hand from the small of his back to Eraqus’s, shrinking the space between them to one that’s more conducive to dancing.

It takes them a while to agree on what type of music is being played; they can only catch snippets as it makes its way through walls and windows and the crowd. When Xehanort finally admits that it _does_ sound like a waltz after all, Eraqus responds with the smug “ _told_ ya” of a sore winner.

“Yeah, yeah,” Xehanort says as he adjusts his stance and his hold on Eraqus accordingly. They begin a very informal waltz within the confines of the balcony, bumping against the wall whenever they overestimate how much room they have. After a few minutes of this careful shuffle back and forth, Eraqus speaks up.

“Waltzing is so uncomfortable,” he says while Xehanort deftly guides him away from banging his hip on the railing. “Even when you _do_ have the space to do it properly. I think it’s the repetitiveness. It feels like a situation where someone’s supposed to break an awkward silence, you know? I always have to fight the urge to make idle chit-chat.”

“You’re doing a fantastic job.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Xehanort chuckles, and just to further antagonize his dance partner, he flouts the rules by putting himself in a dip, forcing Eraqus to catch him. Which he does, automatically, but with obvious effort. Xehanort has to restrain a louder laugh as Eraqus struggles to hold him up. “You all right up there?”

“Didn’t realize you were so heavy,” Eraqus grunts. “I used to be able to flip you when we sparred, didn’t I?”

“It’s all the muscle I’ve put on with my new lifting routine. You know, carrying your weight in history class?” The mischievous spark in Xehanort’s eye is snuffed out fast when he sees the flattest of flat looks that Eraqus is giving him. For a moment, Xehanort wonders if playful insults are really worth the risk of being dropped on the floor. But after letting him hang in limbo for a few more seconds, Eraqus helps Xehanort right himself with a wince and a quiet _oof_.

They resume their waltz, albeit more lazily than before. When the music happens to slow down along with them, Eraqus says, “Uh oh. Slow dance. There’s a horde of people in there looking for you right now.”

“I know,” Xehanort replies, not arrogantly, but in a tone that says he really does know, all too well. “Why do you think I came out here to hide?”

Eraqus snickers, but his laughter dies down when Xehanort pulls him a little closer so they can continue their dance. He places one of his hands on Xehanort’s shoulder and rests the other on his arm, and they sway gently to whatever rhythm Xehanort decides on.

“This isn’t really dancing,” Eraqus says, not sure why he feels compelled to speak at all. Xehanort shrugs.

“This isn’t really a dance floor.” There’s not much Eraqus can say to that, so he decides to just shut his brain off for a while and enjoy himself.

After a few minutes of swaying in silence, Xehanort decides to make amends for his earlier behavior and put Eraqus in a dip properly. He waits for an appropriate moment in the song, and he slides his hands to Eraqus’s back, to let him know it’s coming. But Eraqus is almost in a trance, and he doesn’t return to reality until he’s already being tilted backward.

He wraps his arm behind Xehanort’s neck faster than he can think, spurred into action by the hollow swoop in his stomach that can’t tell the difference between a fatal fall and a three-foot drop. Xehanort responds just as instinctively, tightening his hold on Eraqus and pulling him a few inches closer again. They both freeze, locked in place until they’re convinced, on a primal level, that a crisis has been averted. And then Eraqus starts to laugh, with Xehanort following close behind.

They laugh at themselves and each other, too gripped by it to risk moving. Eraqus is the first to let his laughter subside, and when he takes a deep breath, he notices the warm pressure on his back where Xehanort is holding him up. He’s always liked Xehanort’s hands; his gaze is frequently drawn to them when Xehanort practices magic or violin, or ponders his next move in chess. They’re both artful and strong, and Eraqus can feel his fingertips even through several layers of formal wear, and the heels of his palms as grounding points on his back. His hold is steady and sure, reminding Eraqus that Xehanort would never let him take more than half a fall.

Xehanort is still chuckling softly to himself, and Eraqus watches him patiently. When his laughter tones down to just a smile, Eraqus lifts his free arm to join the other, looping both of them behind Xehanort’s neck.

Xehanort’s smile disappears, and Eraqus can tell he stops breathing for a few seconds. They’re quiet reactions, and he overcomes them quickly. Both of them look at each other for a long moment, measuring the time in heartbeats that they’re now vividly aware of. Xehanort’s gaze is still, and Eraqus’s quickly, subconsciously sweeps down his face, lingering on his lips before returning to his eyes.

Xehanort is the first to look away, helping Eraqus up at the same time to make it seem less deliberate. The way he clears his throat is harder to pass off as anything but sudden awkwardness. Thankfully, Eraqus indulges in some nervous fidgeting, too, adjusting his shirt collar even though it isn’t askew.

They finish the dance just to prove they can. Xehanort puts Eraqus in a slow, gentle twirl and releases his hand as he completes the spin. Eraqus laughs dutifully, letting them both off the hook by pretending they’ve just been kidding around. He gives Xehanort a customary bow to thank him for the dance, which Xehanort accepts by rolling his eyes and returning to the railing. Eraqus follows with a smile. “See?” he says, as if he just won a debate. “You’re a good dancer. There’s no reason to be afraid of going out on the floor.”

“Hey, I’ve got to keep some of my talents hidden,” Xehanort replies, quickly returning to his usual, confident self. “If people found out how good I am at _everything_ , I’d never get any peace around here.”

Eraqus snorts, but he lets Xehanort have that one. They lean on the railing once more and gaze out at the view in comfortable silence. The moon is already high in the sky, but then again, everything is in Scala.

The warmth from inside has long since worn off, but the breeze is still mild enough to be pleasant, and Eraqus lets his hair down from its half-ponytail to enjoy it. He jumps a little when something sticks to his jacket, then laughs at himself when he sees that it’s just a flower petal, carried on the wind. He picks it up and studies it for a while, trying to figure out what kind of flower it came from. He runs his thumb over it to smooth out the wrinkles and creases, as if it matters, and then he sends it adrift on the wind again—not by simply dropping it, but by laying it on his palm and gently blowing it away. It catches an updraft, possibly the same one that had flung it so high to begin with, and the tiny petal twists and turns up into the night sky. Eraqus crosses his arms on the railing and tilts his head back, watching its wayward journey with a soft smile.

For whatever reason, that’s what does it. “I think I’m in love with you,” Xehanort says, lacing his fingers together again to keep his hands still.

Eraqus’s smile fades slightly. He glances at Xehanort, and Xehanort’s gaze shifts toward him without leaving the distant horizon, just enough to put Eraqus back in his periphery without having to face him directly.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise—neither what he said, nor how he chose to say it. On the rare occasion that Xehanort decides to share his feelings, rather than his thoughts or opinions, he tends to frame them the way he’s done now: like hypotheses that have yet to be proven, or theories that are open for debate.

But Eraqus isn’t willing to debate this time, and now more than ever, he needs a moment to figure out what to say next. Xehanort hasn’t moved since he spoke, locked in place by his own nerves. His reaction hinges on Eraqus’s, and in the end, Eraqus goes for the tried-and-true method of one-upping each other.

“Yeah?” he says, teasing but quiet. “Well, I _know_ you’re in love with me.” It catches Xehanort off-guard enough to break through his defenses. He looks at Eraqus, who gives him a small smile and adds, “So there.”

Xehanort stares at him for just a moment longer, and then he can’t help laughing a little. He looks down at his hands instead of out at the ocean this time, shaking his head in faint disbelief. Eraqus watches him for a few more seconds, then gives Xehanort a break from his scrutiny and looks ahead at nothing in particular.

They stand there for a while with Xehanort’s tentative admission of love hanging in the air between them. Neither one of them is sure what to do with it, or what to say next. Luckily, Xehanort shivers at the next breeze, and Eraqus takes the opportunity to speak up again. “Cold?”

“Yeah,” Xehanort says, sounding strangely embarrassed about it, as if everything he says is some kind of confession now. “A little.”

“Wanna go inside?”

Xehanort hesitates. “Back to the party?” he asks, already feeling the music and the talking and the constant clink of glasses and silverware fog up his brain. Eraqus shrugs.

“Not necessarily.”

Xehanort glances at him, quicker than he meant to. Eraqus’s default expression always seems to have a bit of a smile in it, if only in his eyes. It’s still there now, but even more than that is a calm, resolute look. Xehanort returns it for just a few moments, then says, “Sure.”

Eraqus lets his smile spread to the rest of his face. He stands up straight again, wincing briefly as he takes his weight off his elbows, and leads the way back to the hall. When they reach the glass door, Eraqus opens it and stands aside like a perfect gentleman, sweeping his arm in an over-the-top invitation for Xehanort to go first. Once again, Xehanort rolls his eyes at the formality, but he cooperates and steps back inside.

They make their way through the crowd without too much of a hassle. Xehanort keeps his hands in his pockets to dissuade his more inebriated classmates from trying to whisk him back to the dance floor. Behind him, Eraqus explains to a few friends that he’s had more than enough fun for one night, and if he has anything else drink he’ll need to be carried back to his room. All lies, but he’s affable enough that no one questions him. They simply wish him a good night as he trots to catch up with Xehanort, who makes his way through the crowd with calm, clear purpose.

Once they leave the training-turned-dance hall, it finally occurs to Xehanort—the most promising tactician in his class—that he’s given absolutely no thought to what he’s going to do next. As far as he can tell, neither has Eraqus. For a while, they’re both content to simply walk through the tower together with no destination in mind. Their polished shoes click on the polished marble as they descend the stairs to the lower floors. They can’t see much of Scala from this level—the wide windows let them see as far as the nearest town, and nothing beyond. But the moon has risen enough to still be visible, even this far down. It looks smaller, but no less bright, and Eraqus gazes up at it with a smile as they walk. Without taking his eyes off it, he reaches out and finds Xehanort’s hand at his side, interlocking their fingers with a gentle squeeze.

They don’t even make it around the next corner before Xehanort brings them to the wall, less to hold Eraqus against it than to find an anchoring point for himself. He feels utterly lucid and in control of his actions, yet at the same time, he still has no idea what he’s doing. Eraqus’s surprised look hardly helps. But he stands agreeably at the wall, even leaning back against it. He ducks sharply when he feels something on top of his head; Xehanort, with his lack of foresight, managed to place them directly beneath one of the many hanging plants that line the hallways. Its leafy tendrils graze the top of Eraqus’s hair, and he laughs as he tries to shake them off.

Xehanort watches him, calm and focused. Everything is cool right now: the silence, the moonlight, the white wall against his palm. He gazes down at Eraqus’s face, and when Eraqus finally gets rid of the vines, he looks up at Xehanort as well. He lifts his arm and lays it to rest once more over Xehanort’s shoulder, and Xehanort finally takes his cue, leans down, and kisses him.

It’s just a soft, chaste press at first, mostly to Eraqus’s bottom lip. Eraqus kisses him back until Xehanort pulls away, only to lean in again for another. He repeats this pattern several times, with subtle variations in the tilt of his head and the length of the kiss, trying to take things further without the risk of taking them too far. It’s not until Eraqus parts his lips in a smile mid-kiss that Xehanort realizes he can do the same.

He tries to steal kisses that are willingly given, and it keeps them from finding a steady rhythm. Eventually, after a few minutes of this back and forth, give and take, separation and return, Eraqus holds Xehanort in place the next time he leans in. Xehanort tenses, then relaxes as soon as he realizes he’s being invited to stay. He doesn’t know why he bothered moving them to the wall—Eraqus is more of an anchoring point than anything else could ever be.

Neither one of them is swept up in the moment. It’s new, and they take their time, fixating on the small details and the sense of discovery. Eraqus brings his free hand to Xehanort’s face, and while his touch is soft, his palms—like every trainee’s—are perma-callused at this point. Xehanort feels the rough skin against his jaw before Eraqus lays his hand on his cheek. His other hand slides from the back of Xehanort’s neck down to his chest.

Xehanort, in comparison, has made little progress. He still has one hand pressed to the wall beside Eraqus and hasn’t decided what to do with the other yet. Eraqus makes the decision for him, taking Xehanort’s free hand and putting it on his waist. They’re posed as if they’re preparing for another dance, but Xehanort doesn’t even take a step closer.

When they’ve settled into a pattern and feel more at ease, Eraqus slides his tongue along Xehanort’s lip, then into his mouth, slowly but without hesitation. Xehanort is more cautious, and after only a few seconds, he pulls away and breaks the kiss. Eraqus instinctively tries to follow, then opens his eyes, ready with an apology for crossing a line.

But Xehanort doesn’t seem uncomfortable or anxious. He has a faint grimace on his face, and when he looks at Eraqus, all he says is, “You taste like wine.”

Eraqus can’t help but laugh, partly in relief. “Yeah,” he says in lieu of an apology. “I know.”

Xehanort shifts his jaw, trying to work the tart yet cloying taste out of his mouth. When he looks at Eraqus again, his expression neutralizes. He finally takes his hand off the wall and cups Eraqus’s cheek, enjoying the way his eyebrows raise. He closes his eyes and leans in again, giving Eraqus another kiss. Eraqus brings his hand to the back of Xehanort’s head, moving it up into his hair, but Xehanort pulls away before Eraqus can hold him in place. He gazes down at Eraqus, studying his eyes, still trying to figure him out. Eraqus is unbothered by the attention. He stands there, guileless and inscrutable, an open book written in a language Xehanort has yet to learn, even after all this time.

“I am in love with you,” Xehanort says, affirming it for himself as much as for Eraqus, who simply smiles.

“Yeah,” he says again. “I know.”

They stay there for a while, hands still on each other but not moving much, save for Eraqus playing with the back of Xehanort’s hair and Xehanort brushing his thumb over Eraqus’s round cheek. Finally, Xehanort furrows his brow. “How many floors down are we?”

Eraqus pauses to try and remember, parting his lips and accepting Xehanort’s subsequent kiss without letting it break his concentration. “Three,” he says when Xehanort pulls away, and he leans in to give him another brief kiss. And then, hoping that he hasn’t misunderstood the question, he adds, “My room’s closer.”

“Good.” Xehanort looks at Eraqus as if he’s going to kiss him again, but he doesn’t. He brushes a few strands of hair away from his face, then steps back and drops his arms to his sides—but when Eraqus reaches for his hand again, Xehanort lets him take it. As Eraqus guides him down the hallowed, moonlit corridors of Scala ad Caelum, Xehanort squeezes his fingers gently, warm and slender and once again linked with his own. Eraqus squeezes back, and Xehanort steps closer to him as they walk, marveling at the fact that this evening held something worth commemorating after all.


End file.
